


Overthinking It

by ohmarqueliot



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Jealousy, M/M, expanding their argument, queliot with mentions of quentin x arielle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmarqueliot/pseuds/ohmarqueliot
Summary: An expansion of Quentin and Eliot's argument during their A Life in the Day Montage. Quentin talks about wanting more from his life than being stuck solving an unsolvable puzzle, and Eliot takes it personally.





	Overthinking It

**Author's Note:**

> I was about to start writing a completely different fic when I rewatched this sequence, and got stuck on thinking about this argument instead. Whoops?

Referring to the plan by his side, Eliot switched two tiles, rolling his eyes at himself for putting them in the wrong places to start with. Glancing across at Quentin, he watched him for a moment as he filled tiles on the other side of the board, his brow furrowed in more than just concentration, before turning back to his own work with a sigh. He’d been in a funny mood all day but had brushed off Eliot’s gentle probing earlier, so he’d let it rest, knowing that he’d come to him when he was ready. It wasn’t like Quentin to bottle things up, so he knew it would come bubbling out soon enough.

When Quentin did break the long silence, it was not what Eliot was expecting. “Um, so… You know when you were High King of Fillory?”

“Yes, Quentin, I remember,” he said dryly.

“Well… Fillory’s a big place. I’m sure there are plenty of places that you wanted to see.”

Slowly, he leaned back on his haunches, watching Quentin carefully, suddenly nervous about where this train of thought was going. “Q –”

“Just...” Quentin rubbed his hand over his face. “I just don’t want to be stuck solving a puzzle for the rest of my life.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows. “It’s been two years.”

Pushing himself to his feet with a groan, Quentin brushed his hands off on his pants. “Exactly. And we’re no closer than when we first got here.” Eliot followed suit, the plans in hand, dread forming in his stomach. “There’s so much here that we haven’t seen or done, El. Aren’t you curious? I want to see everything, do everything,  _be_  somebody. Have a family,” he added with a shrug.

Thinking of his poor excuse for a family and how easily he’d messed all of that up, Eliot pulled a face. “Trust me, having a family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t care about Fen. And I know what happened with Fray was, well, terrible, but she’s still your daughter. I want…” He groaned through gritted teeth. “I want more! I can’t do this forever!”

 _He’s serious. He’s really considering leaving._  He shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hit Eliot like a knife to the gut. Or rather, in the back. He knew that living in each other’s pockets wasn’t always the easiest, and that their continued failure with the mosaic would put a strain on the most stable of relationships, but he hadn’t really considered the possibility that he would be sick of him already. After the last two years, he couldn’t imagine spending a day without him, let alone going off to live his own life. Clearly, Quentin didn’t feel the same connection.

The thought put a bitter taste in his mouth, and he tried to push away the hurt, well aware that he was the one who had said they shouldn’t over think their relationship, don’t label it, just take it as it comes and live it as it is. He’d assumed that it would be an easier way for them to live together until they got the key, but now it was just making it easier for him to leave.

Realising that he was completely failing to quash his feelings, he took a deep breath, let it out sharply. This wasn’t just about whatever they had – or didn’t. “You can’t leave,” he said firmly, gesturing with the plans in his hand. Quentin’s brow furrowed sullenly and he turned away. He regretted his tone for a moment, but it was quickly overtaken by exasperation and anger. He wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true. “We could be done tomorrow for all you know.” Turning his back, Quentin stepped over to the chair and sunk into it, not meeting Eliot’s eye. “We can’t just throw away all this time we’ve invested.”  _In the mosaic,_  he thought, looking over the damned thing.  _In each other._  And if that wasn’t enough, he wasn’t going to let him abandon the quest to fill his life with more than he could give. “If you want to live your life, live it here,” he said, walking across the mosaic and throwing the papers down onto the table in frustration.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Quentin challenged, having the nerve to sound  _offended._

Straightening a stack of tiles that looked near to falling, he didn’t bother to hide the bitterness he felt. “You know exactly what that means.”  _Find a wife. Have a damned family if you want that so badly. But I’m not going to let you abandon me to this._

Pressing one hand hard into the table, he skimmed the forefinger of his other hand over the plan, trying to focus his mind on what colour he needed next instead of how obviously useless he was as a companion. He hadn’t felt this kind of not good enough since he’d left his life behind for Brakebills, and he found himself itching for sudden and complete inebriation.

A loud clatter sounded behind him, pulling him from his thoughts, and he spun around to see Quentin standing in front of a freshly kicked over scattering of tiles. “Oops,” he said flatly, spreading his arms tiredly, as though he were picking a fight but didn’t have the heart to fully engage.

Eliot had too much heart – anger flooded through him, deeper than he could have expected. After a moment Quentin met his eye again with no hint of regret, and Eliot was done. Tossing the plans into the air with a sharp flick of his wrist, he turned his back and walked away, not trusting himself to say things that could never be taken back if he stayed

“Who’s abandoning the quest now?” Quentin yelled petulantly, and Eliot threw up his middle finger without turning around as he walked into the forest.

* * *

 

The sun had just set when Eliot returned to the clearing, the area lit mostly by the torches that surrounded the mosaic. The light flickered over the tiles and over Quentin, who was sitting cross legged near a corner and filling in what looked to be green tiles. Their collection of plans was piled neatly on the table, with the current one weighed down by Quentin with a small rock.

Holding his head high, Eliot walked straight past him and into the cottage.

Closing the door behind him, he kicked off his shoes and pushed his sleeves up his arms, washing his face and hands quickly in the bucket of water near the door before grabbing his flask and taking a seat at the small table in their tiny kitchen. A pot of what smelled like stew was bubbling away over the fire but he ignored it, tearing a handful of bread from the loaf he’d bought at the market yesterday and eating it dry, just wanting something to fill his stomach but not in the mood to enjoy a meal.

The door creaked slowly behind him open and then closed, but he didn’t react. He’d thought he’d had his emotions under control when he’d decided to come back to the cottage, but really everything was just swimming underneath a thick layer of weariness. The floorboards creaked behind him, as though Quentin was shifting on his feet.

“I don’t want to leave you here on your own,” Quentin said after a moment. “If that’s what you were thinking.”

Eliot’s eyes fell closed at the sound of his voice. He’d had all of these fighting words prepared in his mind, but suddenly found that he didn’t want to use them anymore. Rather, he wanted to be heard, but he didn’t want to  _fight._  Not with Quentin. Not anymore. “It’s one of the things I was thinking,” he admitted eventually without turning around.

“Well that’s not what I meant,” Quentin said firmly, and he opened his eyes to see him walking into his line of sight and taking the seat opposite him. His eyes were earnest and open. “I’m not going home without you. I’m not exploring Fillory without you.” He cocked his head slightly, smiling faintly and reaching out to put his hand over Eliot’s. “I want to do it  _with_  you.”

“And I won’t abandon the quest,” Eliot said, his hand still under Quentin’s touch. “You shouldn’t want to.”

“How can you not want to?” Quentin asked bewilderedly. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Of course I’m exhausted!” He turned his hand over to grip Quentin’s tightly, needing him to hear him, really hear him. “Every day I’m exhausted, and bored, and wondering. But this is bigger than what I want. Our friends are relying on us, Q. The whole universe is relying on us! This is the only way to bring magic back, so how can we just walk away from it?”

Sighing heavily, Quentin ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand, pushing it back out of his face. “You think I don’t know that?” he asked tiredly. “You think I wouldn’t have left already if I didn’t care about why we’re here? I guess I was just… I don’t know… looking for you to make me feel better about wanting more than this for the rest of our lives.”

“If we were doing this for fun it wouldn’t be nearly as exhausting.” He tried a faint smile but his heart wasn’t in it. He was still caught up in the other part of the argument – the part that Quentin didn’t know they were having. He hated how much it bothered him, and that hatred only managed to make him feel worse about the whole situation.

Silence stretched between them, until Quentin made a sound in the back of his throat. “Is there anything else?” he asked, his tone stating clearly that he knew there was.

He should have just brushed it off, but he was feeling too restless, too reckless. “You don’t owe me anything, Q,” he said, surprising himself with his dark tone. “We just fuck away the loneliness when we need to. You don’t need my permission to put a ring on it and knock up a bitch.”

Quentin’s hand froze over his and then he pulled it back sharply, leaving Eliot’s hand cold and his heart on the floor.  _You stupid fucking idiot_ , he railed at himself, the open hurt in Quentin’s eyes sending him into a spiral of self hatred and regret and pain.  _You just_ had _to make it worse. Well news flash – hurting the people you love doesn’t actually make you feel any better, you asshole._

His hands gripping the edge of the table tightly, Quentin frowned in confusion. “Is that really what you think?”

Eliot shrugged, dropping his eyes to the table. “It’s what you think.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly, and when he didn’t continue Eliot risked a glance up at him. Quentin was watching him intently, his eyes earnest. “I know you said let’s not over think it, but maybe we should, I don’t know,  _normal_  think it?” He paused, then his face and his voice softened. “You’re my partner. And I love you.”

There was no trace of guile – like he was capable. Both the words and the utter sincerity on Quentin’s face felt like a balm to his soul, and he felt all of his anger and hurt slowly drain away, leaving only tiredness and regret. “I love you too,” he said, realising just how much he meant it. And how much of a fool he was being. He sighed, laying his hands palm up on the table. “And I want you to have a family,” he said, and meant it. “God, I want you to have a wife if that’s what you want. I don’t need you to want just me – ugh, how boring.” That earned him a laugh, the skin around Quentin’s eyes crinkling as he chuckled, and his answering smile was tentative but true. After a moment it faded into something more wry as uncertainty pricked at him once more. “I just want you to want me, too.” He shrugged, trying to lessen the vulnerability of his admission.

Confusingly, Quentin’s smile widened and widened until he was outright grinning. “I want you to want me,” he sang.

Snorting a laugh in surprise, Eliot groaned loudly and threw the end of the bread at him, doing all he could to keep his face straight as Quentin ducked out of the way. “Nope, I take it back – get out.”

Quentin stood up and walked around to his side of the table, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, his forearms firm across his chest, and Eliot leaned back into the embrace. Clasping onto his arms, he pressed the side of his head against Quentin’s. “I suppose I should have more faith in this,” he said quietly.

“And I’ll try and be more clear about the parts of this that suck.” He felt warm lips in his hair. “None of which is you, by the way.”

“Well, I was going to, but if you don’t want –“

* * *

 

Some time measurable only in warm touches and hot mouths and the most delicious sounds later, Eliot lay on his back in bed, half-covered by the sheet and by Quentin, running his fingers slowly up and down his back and enjoying the occasional satisfied sigh it brought from him. It was late, but his mind was too preoccupied to sleep. He didn’t want to force anything, but the thought had occurred to him earlier in the night and he wanted to be supportive. “So, Peach Girl’s kinda cute,” he said to the ceiling, fairly confident that Quentin was still awake. The way he froze a moment later told him not only that he was right, but that he’d understood his intent. “I  _know_  that you’ve noticed.”

Pushing himself onto his elbows, Quentin looked down at Eliot consideringly. It was hard to tell in the soft embers from the dying fire, but he was pretty sure his cheeks were burning the same way they usually did whenever Arielle visited their little clearing. Quentin cleared his throat. “Peach Girl has a boyfriend,” he said carefully.

Eliot shrugged. “Details.”

* * *

 

The afternoon sun was hot on his face and sharp on his eyes when Eliot blinked them open. Rubbing one hand over them, he pushed himself upright in the chair, berating himself for falling asleep outside. And in the middle of the day. For God’s sake, he wasn’t even drunk.

Realising that Quentin wasn’t working on the puzzle in front of him like he had been the last time he’d looked, he cast his eyes around and found him standing by the edge of the clearing, waving to someone. Catching a flash of red hair before it disappeared into the forest, Eliot caught himself smiling at the sight.

 _This is good_ , he thought, and was a little surprised to find that he meant it. Only a little, though. He truly wanted anything that would make Quentin happy, and if this is what he wanted then he’d do whatever he could to encourage that.

Especially now that he knew that it didn’t mean having any less of him for himself.

Slowly, he stood and walked over to Quentin, finding it more than a little adorable that he was looking into the forest after she’d gone.  _What a romantic fool,_ he thought with warm affection.

Quentin didn’t turn when Eliot reached his side, and when he wrapped an arm around his shoulder he grabbed onto his hand almost absentmindedly. “Her helper isn’t around anymore,” he said mildly.

Eliot noted with great interest that he hadn’t said the word  _boyfriend_. “Uh-huh,” he said knowingly.

There was a long pause, and he watched a handful of birds chase each other through the trees before disappearing out of sight. “I invited her for dinner tomorrow,” Quentin said eventually.

“Uh-huh.”

Finally, Quentin turned to look up at him, and Eliot bit his bottom lip against his smirk, knowing that he’d see the gesture and know anyway. Quentin’s face was serious, but his eyes were alight. “Say a word and I’ll kick you.”

Eliot just raised his eyebrows. “ _Uh-huh_.”


End file.
